Amidst the laughter and catching up that characterizes a phone call home, my best friend asked me “So what’s the craziest thing you’ve seen in Ghana?”
“Uh, I don’t know. There hasn’t really been anything I would call crazy.” A disappointing answer, no doubt.
But as the conversation continued I realized how many things that astonish people back home have become absolutely normal to me. Writing about how normal everything is makes for a pretty boring blog post, but thanks to Jacquie I have been reminded of the Canadian perspective of my day-to-day life and, I must admit, it’s pretty freaking crazy sometimes.
I’ll start with the fun stuff.
I commute on a fire-engine-red motorcycle named Porsche. I learned to ride on what is widely agreed to be the worst road in Ghana: a 250km stretch of muddy potholes from Tamale to Bole. It took two days. I crashed three times, was covered 
A big part of my job is teaching business skills to farmers. I ride out to see them. I hang in the village for the day (inevitably learning more than I teach) and then I ride home. Amazing scenery aside, I can’t even begin to describe the feeling at the end of a farmer group meeting when everyone gets up and starts singing and dancing. It really shouldn’t be called ‘work’.
There are basically three meals eaten in Ghana: mashed potatoes with peanut oil, beans with peanut oil, rice with peanut oil, and for a snack, peanuts. You will never find a Ghanaian who is allergic to peanuts.
It is insulting to pass or receive an item with one’s left hand. However, it is standard practice to pee in the shower and pick one’s nose in public.
The electrical outlets at work are always full with employee cell phones because many of them don’t have electricity in their homes.
I shower with a bucket. I do my laundry and wash my dishes in the same bucket. I have a giant bucket of water on my porch for the days when the well runs dry.
I had to bribe a policeman a dollar (“You give me a gift.”) at a checkpoint near my home for him to let me pass.
When it rains, the world stops. Everyone gets around by foot or by motorcycle so when the rain comes down it’s just impossible to go anywhere.
I drink my coffee, yoghurt, peanut butter, and water out of little plastic bags.
Everywhere I go, groups of children sing me the song “Obrunie (white person), How are you? I am fine. Thhhhhank you!”
The name Ashley is very difficult to pronounce for a Ghanaian and those who have heard it before know it only from the (male) soccer player, Ashley Cole. Everyone here calls me Aisha.
And finally my home:
In the centre of the compound that I share with seven families there is a lime tree.
All of my furniture is made of teak wood and I built my own wardrobe (in the photo below) and bookshelf this morning before work. My room is concrete covered by lime-green 
When I showed up the room was packed to the brim with bags and bags of (yes, you guessed it) peanuts. It cost a meagre $500 (and four tins of Raid) to make this concrete box a happy home.
And in the end it’s just like living anywhere else. Regardless of how ‘crazy’ some of the differences are, it is painless and instinctive to adapt. You truly can get used to anything. So my answer to Jacquie’s question: The craziest thing is that happiness, and a sense of belonging, can be found everywhere.
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